


Take A Break

by actualkoschei



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/pseuds/actualkoschei





	Take A Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WahlBuilder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/gifts).



“Put the data-slate down.” Sigismund’s hand wraps around his primarch’s wrist, pale calloused fingers in sharp contrast against Dorn’s tanned skin. He sees Dorn about to try to protest, to pull his hand away, and holds tighter with a click of his tongue. “None of that. You’ve been working far too hard, you need to relax for just a little bit. The paperwork piles up, I know.” He sighs in understanding. “But it can wait for a couple hours while you take care of yourself, you are running yourself ragged with this compliance.”

Dorn finally drops the data-slate, letting himself be led, pulled away from his heavy hardwood desk and into Sigismund’s arms. “You’re a good boy.” He murmurs, lips pressed to the top of Sigismund’s fluffy blond hair. “Always know what I need. So I am not going to ask you for anything, in these hours we take to relax. I shall let you decide what it is that will make you feel better. I am sure you know better than me.”

“I do not think, my lord, that there are many things I know better than you.” Sigismund smiles wickedly, and leans up to press a quick kiss to Dorn’s dry lips. “But I will allow that this is perhaps one of them. I think you would like a nice hot bath. Julius Kaesoron, from the Emperor’s Children, you know, the one that is so interested in our Camba-Diaz, he has just sent my brother a shipment of lovely scented bath oils, too many for Camba-Diaz to use on his own. He has gifted some to me, and I though that you and I could make some us of his generosity.”

Dorn looks surprised for a moment, brow furrowing. “Kaesoron and our Camba-Diaz? Really? I thought he was with Ferrus Manus’s boy…”

“Santar.” Sigismund quickly supplies the name. “Gabriel Santar. Yes, yes he is, but it seems that lately they have both taken a fondness to Camba-Diaz. A joint effort, I think. It is quite charming to watch. But anyway.” He takes Dorn’s large hand in his own smaller one, and leads him to the large heated baths, turning on the steaming water, allowing it to splash and cascade into the large wooden tub. Once the water reaches a reasonable level, a level, that is, that would be around Sigismund’s shoulders or Dorn’s neck, Sigismund opens a flask of amber-coloured glass with a wine-coloured wax stopper, and pours out a swirl of rich shimmering purple oil into the water. The colour dissipates quickly, leaving only a slight tinge of faint lavender to the water, but releasing a cloud of heady scent, incense, bergamot, and lavender. Sigismund smiles, stripping off his duty robes to reveal his muscular form, and stirring the water gently with his hand. That done, he steps back, smiling, and helping Dorn out of his tunic.

As every time he undresses his primarch, it feels like a treasure, a precious moment, like opening Emperor’s Day gifts as a child back on Terra, peeling back the plain paper to reveal whatever pleasure lay beneath. And the pleasure that is Dorn’s body is a truly fine one indeed, Sigismund thinks. Next to his primarch, Sigismund feels small, not something he is used to, but yet still exciting. Dorn is huge, not just the height he shares with his brothers, but broad, too, with wide shoulders, a barrel chest, and rippling muscles below his richly coloured skin, the shade of polished copper or walnut wood. The hair on his body is as coarse and silver-white as that on his head, a fine layer over his chest and arms, and a thicker patch at his crotch, leading up in a trail to his bellybutton. And his face, Sigismund rhapsodises, now there is true beauty. Fine figures, chiselled as proud, strong, and neat as any marble statue from the ancient times of Terra. Dark grey eyes, sometimes threatening and stern as the storm clouds they are kin to, but right now soft, warm, the clear skies over Terra.

“You are staring.” Dorn informs Sigismund, deep voice rumbling with laughter and affection.

“And you, my lord,” Sigismund places the palms of his hands flat on Dorn’s chest. “You are a work of art.”

Dorn does laugh then, and it is like thunder breaking. “You flatter me, First Captain. Come, get in the bath with me.” He lifts Sigismund into the tub without waiting for an answer, and then slides in beside him, wrapping him tightly in his big arms.

Sigismund leans back, resting his head against Dorn’s chest and feeling the steady rhythm of his twin heartbeats. “I love you, my lord.” He murmurs, almost an afterthought, and yet a confession at the same time.

Dorn kisses the top of his head. “My name is Rogal, you know that. How many times have I told you not to stand on ceremony when we are alone?”

Sigismund smiles, reaching up to cup the primarch’s cheek in his hand. “Too many, my… Rogal. Too many times.”

“I know that well enough. Just let yourself be, Sigismund. It is just you and I here. Nothing between us, no paperwork, no battles or armour or reports. Just two men in love. Think about it, won’t you? Right now, we could be anybody. Any pair of lovers, mortal lovers even, taking a moment together. It is soothing to me, that thought, you know. Not having to be a primarch for once.”

Sigismund smiles up at him, nuzzling along his jaw. “You are always a primarch, beloved Rogal. Always so glorious and strong. That should not mean that you cannot take some time for yourself, and enjoy it. And yet, I feel what you describe, still. Bliss.”


End file.
